Stuart Vail is the Editor-in-Chief of the TheScreamOnline.

http://www.thescreamonline.com.  He knew Jaco in Boston in the mid-70's.

Jaco was an enigma. The restrained and underlying power of things to
come lay just beneath the surface of the relaxed bass line in the
ballad, yet each whole note spoke multi-lingual volumes of emotions
and colors. It was the mid-seventies and I was at a
Metheny-Pastorius-Moses gig at Pooh's Pub in Boston, and I knew I was
witnessing history being made. The next tune was as in-the-pocket as
you could get, and Jaco's five-alarm bass solo in the middle came
close to burning the place to the ground. It only confirmed my
decision to become a composer and leave the real playing to guys like
this.

I had met Jaco through Pat. I taught at Berklee in those days and I
think Pat had come up from Florida the previous year and turned the
guitar department on end. I had studied with Gary Burton and also
knew Bobby, Mick Goodrick, Swallow. One day I saw Jaco on the street
and invited him to a Real Book party I was going to that weekend.
This wasn't a playing party like they have these days where you bring
your ax, your Real Book, and stand in line waiting to sit in. This
was a coming out party, THE original Real Book party by the cats who
produced it to celebrate its success. So Jaco showed up, was very low
key, and friendly to all, but I could see that he had all sorts of
music churning inside. I don't think he ever sat still -- fingers
tapped, internal riffs busted to get out. That was Jaco, ever on the
move. To hitch a ride on the Jaco Express you had to be pretty bad.
Badder than bad.